More than Words
by Kerrison
Summary: Post Ep for RED BULLS. Wayne reflects on his new relationship with Grace and how sometimes it isn't what you say, but rather what you don't say that is important.


**AN: My first attempt at Mentalist fanfic. I had fun writing this, though it is brief. :) This is unbeta'd - all issues are mine and mine alone. Many thanks to my friend Jen for her continued love & support. ((Get well soon!))**

**I'd love to hear any feedback. **

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It had stung when she didn't return the words. He'd be a liar if he tried to deny it.

But, on the drive away from CBI headquarters that night, a small smile slid across his features. She might not say the words, but he still knew.

It was in the way that she met him at his place for their first 'date' instead of going out. It was how she happily tucked her legs up underneath her on his sofa and dug into the pasta and salad she had helped him make, not needing a fancy first-date meal at some candle-lit restaurant.

She had laughed at him and wiped the spaghetti sauce off the tip of his nose with her thumb, before gently licking the finger clean with a girlish grin that left him breathless.

It was how she was content with him at her place watching a rented movie- both snuggled under her grandmother's quilt. At first, she carefully leaned her shoulder into his, then several minutes later threw caution to the wind and firmly moved into his embrace, resting her head on his chest during the film. It was how she looked up at him through thick lashes and bit her lip while trying to stifle the blush that was tinting her cheeks.

He had draped an arm across her, pulling her close to him, and she had laced her fingers with his, toying with his hand. As the credits rolled, he had finally given in to the long-day, late hours and lack of sleep, his head lolling to the side and his eyes fluttering shut. She had roused him enough to convince him to stretch out across her sofa and she had silenced his protests and attempts to leave for the night with a gentle whisper of a kiss.

She had rested his head on a pillow captured from her bed. When she moved to cover him with the blanket for the evening, he had seized her hand and watched her through heavy eyes. Without another word, she smiled shyly and maneuvered herself onto the couch with him, all but using him as a bed. She pulled the quilt over them both and kissed his cheek before settling her head back on his chest and drifting off as the pattern of his deep and even breathing soothed her.

It was in the way she got to the station a few minutes before him, every morning, making sure there was a mug of orange juice on his desk. She knew he'd down coffee after coffee, not stopping for anything more nutritious until his afternoon soda binge rolled around.

She alwys made sure there was a post-it note under the mug with a smiley face, grinning at him when he lifted the juice to his lips.

It was how she delicately defended his pride, stroking his ego from across the office with only gentle words.

It was how she nagged him to wear his vest. And how she pretended that she wouldn't care if he got hurt, though the fear and frustration in her voice told a different story.

It was how her eyes searched the room, moving frantically until they rested on his face. Only then was she able to find her voice, take stock of her injuries and send him after their perpetrator.

It was how, the first face she looked for as she was wheeled out of the building was his. And how she paused long enough to quickly examine him and know he was alright before moving on to answer the questions being flung at her from the rest of their team.

It was how she had a smile of relief when he slipped into the ambulance. How her hand latched onto his and squeezed, reassuring them both of each-others' presence.

It was how, when he declared his feelings – again- she didn't look away. She held his gaze and didn't hide.

It was how her hand connected with his head. Hard. And how she scolded him severely for putting himself at risk in a stupid show of bravado. It was how her eyes sparked with fear at the thought of it being _him_ shot – without a vest. He saw the horror in her gaze at what could have been.

He relived it all as he pulled away from the CBI and navigated through town; the touches, the gentle kisses, the movies, the walks in the park, the bickering at the grocery store over what type of meal to prepare that evening. He relived it and found himself to be more secure than he ever had with his previous relationships, words of declaration or otherwise.

He tried not to smile as he rode the elevator to her floor. He tried not to whistle to himself as he walked past the nurse's station. But when he opened the door to her room after a perfunctory knock, he couldn't help but let a soft smile cross his features.

It was how her face lit up when he entered the room. It was how she made him feel as if he was the only man in the world, with only one look.

She'd tell him when she was ready. Until then, he had a list of moments to remind him that it was true – Grace did love him.

And though Wayne knew he'd never forget when she _was _finally able to say it, he doubted that the three words could ever bring him more happiness than he got from the moments where she showed just how much she loved him.


End file.
